LOVE HANDLES

For a split seismic second, my soon-to-be Medicare-age male ego fluttered, flushed and felt faintly flattered—and flattened fast. I knew that the bikini-clad pictures the woman was texting me were not meant for me. It was an electronic error of a grieving widow who felt moribund and mortified about sending them to the priest who had conducted the memorial service for her husband two days earlier.

Jenny’s husband Jerry was 50 years old when he died of liver cancer. She honored him with a memorial service for his friends and family. The day after the service, I received a text from Jenny: “Thank you so much, pastor Paul for the service on Saturday. It was spiritual and touching; Jerry would have liked it.”

And I texted back: “Thank you Jenny. Glad to be able to help. I pray that God and Jerry’s angel help you move forward.”

That was it. I had moved forward.

The next day I received two photos of Jenny in bikini with a message in Spanish: Tengo q bajar los gorditos,jijiji. (I have to lose my love-handles,hahaha). My Spanish-ignorant brain thought it was something naughty.

Instantly, I showed the text and the pictures to my wife Judy, because I had nothing to hide. It is always a safe thing to do, to prove your innocence and maintain marital peace. I was as surprised as she was. Judy looked up the Spanish dictionary to find out the meaning of the message. It was innocent. Jenny was talking about getting rid of her love handles. I had a sigh of relief especially for Jenny’s sake.

Just as I had suspected, it was a misdirected text. While we were looking up the Spanish dictionary, my phone rang. It was Jenny. Her voice was quivering. She apologized profusely for sending those pictures to me. I allayed her anxiety and told her: “Don’t worry about it; this happens all the time; it was an innocent mistake; don’t be too hard on yourself; I just deleted them; be at peace.”

I told her about my faux pas, once sending a text message to my female boss: “Will pick you up after work and let us go for dinner first and for shopping later.” Of course, it was meant for my wife, but in my hurried, not-paying-attention-mode, I sent it to my boss. We both laughed out loud about our embarrassing electronic errors. Jenny was relieved that I didn’t mishandle the situation.

Jenny had texted the pictures to her girl friend, inviting her to go to the pool to exercise so that she can get rid of her love handles. . Since she didn’t hear back from her friend for hours, she wondered if she had gotten the message. So Jenny went back to her phone and checked and she almost fainted when she realized that the text had gone to my phone. She told me that she was sweating bullets before calling me. She was embarrassed and ashamed about sending her pictures in beach attire to a priest, especially a priest whom she had met once, who had just officiated a memorial service for her deceased husband.

The Information super highway is a good place to travel. It takes you to your destinations fast and easy. But, like any speed-way, wrecks are common and some of them can be deadly. Jenny’s was not.

It is always a good policy not to send any pictures to anybody unless it is a picture that you don’t mind the public to see. We also need to be extremely careful about what we write in our texts and emails. Unlike on a paper where we can go back and erase, correct and control, electronic transmissions, once the “send” button is clicked, are beyond your control. The unintended consequences of a hurried message or an image sent carelessly or in anger, can be unpredictable and sometimes, even dangerous.

Pay attention; be alert; take a deep breath; slow down. Take an extra second, and check twice before you click that “send” button on your electronic devices. It can save a lot of grief.